


An Okay Guy

by foggys_cupcake_girl



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Awkward Sexual Situations, Cinnamon Roll Percival Graves, Courtship, Credence Barebone Heals, Drama & Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Gellert is a classy mofo okay, Happy Credence Barebone, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Protective Gellert Grindelwald, References to Depression, Romantic Angst, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Worth Issues, Virgin Credence Barebone, and Graves is totally into that, he is basically a non-murderous Hannibal, very classy courtship too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys_cupcake_girl/pseuds/foggys_cupcake_girl
Summary: Is he happy? Sure, happy enough. Is he in love? He thinks he could be, if he isn’t right now. Gellert is very good to him, and he thinks he could get used to it, if he could only stop feeling so guilty about it all being so one-sided. Because this is what he wanted, right?He tells himself,you wanted someone to care for you and now you have it, so stop looking for flaws that aren’t there. You can be happy now.But if that’s true, he wonders, why is Credence Barebone’s sweet face the last thing he sees before he falls asleep some nights?
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves, Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves/Gellert Grindelwald, Original Percival Graves/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 16
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand here we go! :D This very Soft & Feelsy modern AU is heavily inspired by the lovely Anand Tucker film _Shopgirl_ with Claire Danes, Jason Schwartzman and Steve Martin, and if you haven’t seen that lovely masterpiece I strongly recommend you do so. ^_^
> 
> This one goes out to redreaper86 -- I wasn't going to bother finishing this one, but your enthusiasm changed my mind. Thank you, as always, for being so wonderfully encouraging. 💖💖💖

The Kay Jewelers’ counter is about as unlike the 5th precinct as you can get. For some ex-cops, that would be a downside. But to Graves, it’s as close to heaven as he thinks he’ll ever be.

He quit the force in protest four years ago, when he was punished for trying to book a “promising young man” on a sexual assault charge. Now he’s the only male employee in a jewelry shop, a nice little spot tucked into the mall between Gloria Jean’s Coffee and Bath and Body Works. Except for Valentine’s Day and Black Friday, most of the time his job is quite peaceful.

It will never not be funny to him that more people rush up to him now and say “Thank God you’re here, I _desperately_ need your help!” than when he was a cop. He supposes it makes sense: when your wife is mad at you, the guy who works at the jewelry store is your best friend.

Today, the “emergency” is a forgotten birthday. “We’ve only been together, like, three months,” the man worries as Graves pulls out a tray of peridot birthstone necklaces. “Hell, I forget my own birthday half the time!”

“Women don’t think like that,” Graves explains to him patiently as he lays out a few different necklaces. “I think she probably just wants to know you appreciate her. Now, if you don’t want this to look like a plea for mercy—which you and I both know it is—you’ve got to find something that only she would like. Because if it looks impersonal, you’re going to be in even bigger trouble than before.”

“Animals. Science. She’s smart, like, way smarter than me, she’s getting a master’s in ecology. She goes and mucks around in swamps and stuff for fun.” The guy’s eyes light up as he spots a turtle-shaped necklace inlaid with peridots and tiny diamonds. “You’re really saving my ass here, man. Thanks,” he says as the necklace is gift-wrapped and rung up.

“It’s what I’m here for,” Graves tells him with a smile as he hands over the bag.

He doesn’t have any regrets from this job, and he loves the low-stakes nature of it. He doesn’t lie awake at night and beat himself up over not being able to find the perfect Valentine’s gift for someone. And he likes being surrounded by pretty things, likes that the stores on either side always smell good, likes that everything is soft and sparkly and nothing in here _hurts._

After work the others like to go out for drinks or go to the AMC at the other end of the mall. He never does, and it makes him feel _old_ to go home and drink a beer and watch a movie alone, but the fact is he doesn’t like parties or crowds and he never really did, even in his college days. He’s _not_ old—not according to most people, anyway—he’s thirty-six and he’s not married and doesn’t have kids and, by all logic, he should be going out and dating and having fun…

But honestly, he thinks as he watches his generic Campbell’s soup bubble in a pot on the stove, he doesn’t _want_ to go to clubs, have one-night stands and “adventures” with strangers. He eats in front of the TV, alone, at 9:00 PM since most days he works the 11:30 to 8:00 shift and maybe, he thinks, maybe this should be depressing. Maybe his therapist would tell him _go out, meet people, you’re still young._ But he’s had wild nights and knows he doesn’t want any more.

After years of being shot at and told _all cops are bastards_ and having people stare at him with fear (and that was all _before_ his mates at the precinct found out he was gay), falling asleep to Nick @ Nite with his cat curled up on his chest might be anticlimactic, but it feels good and safe, and that’s all he wants just now.

~

It’s almost like fate, the day that Graves meets Credence Barebone.

In keeping with the theme of _boring old man,_ he enjoys doing laundry. The laundry room of his apartment building isn’t exactly easy on the eyes, but there’s something soothing about laundry. He loves the warm feeling of taking clean clothes out of the dryer, and goes out of his way to avoid buying things that are dry-clean-only just because it robs him of the chance to do his own laundry.

What’s funny, _really_ funny, is that he meets the mysterious laundry-room boy just moments after he idly realizes, _I haven’t had a date in forever._

He doesn’t hide himself away on purpose. It’s just that relationships require a certain amount of understanding, which Graves does not really usually find himself on the receiving end of; usually _I was a cop_ seems to be code for either _be afraid, be very afraid_ or _I’m the alpha, now sit there in the corner and wait for me to court you._

Which is why it’s _even fucking funnier_ that Credence chooses the moment when he _is_ in a pair of Levis held together by thread and determination, his hair still damp from the shower, his breath smelling of Campbell’s tomato soup and cheap beer, to sidle up to him at the laundry table and shyly make a pass at him.

He’s so beautiful, this boy, that it almost hurts to look at him. He’s tall and slim and has lovely dark eyes with long, flickering lashes, and his lips are so soft and full that they instantly make Graves ache to be kissed, and his jawline is sharp enough to cut glass. And when those beautiful dark eyes meet Graves’, he can’t help but be mesmerized, just a little bit. Just enough that when the sweet boy asks in a warm, deep voice that doesn’t match his vulnerable face if Graves can spare a quarter, he doesn’t think twice about handing it over.

“I’ve seen you before,” the boy says as he restarts the dryer, and then adds with the tiniest smile, “All these months of doing this stunningly boring chore.”

“I like doing laundry,” Graves says automatically, because it’s true.

“Psych! I love it,” the boy replies with a wider smile, and it takes a second for the reference to land, but—

 _“Dr. Horrible,_ seriously?” Graves realizes with a laugh. “It’s been a long time since I heard a good _Dr. Horrible_ reference. There’s no way you’re old enough to remember the writers’ strike, kid.”

The boy bites his lip as he leans against the laundry counter, giving Graves a very nice view of his slender hips and what Graves can’t help but notice looks to be a decently-sized package. “I’m older than I look,” he says, a little defiantly.

They talk, briefly. The boy’s name is Credence, and he lives in the studio apartments all the way at the back of the lot. He’s in college, but he doesn’t take money from his parents. He’s on his own for the first time at twenty-four (he _is_ older than he looks, he wasn’t kidding; Graves would have pegged him for nineteen, tops), and he’s shy, but there’s something steely that glints through his soft exterior, and it makes Graves want to know more.

Graves doesn’t expect Credence to make the first move, but he does. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over sometime,” he offers as Graves is packing his folded laundry back into the basket. “My apartment probably isn’t as nice as yours, but if you’d like to, I don’t know, watch a movie together…”

“Sure,” Graves says, surprised and pleased that Credence is initiating something They exchange information, Credence blushing something awful as he puts Graves’ number in his phone, and when he smiles at Graves before he leaves with his clean laundry, Graves can’t help it, he knows it’s cheesy but he swears that smile makes him fall a little bit in love.

He falls asleep that night a little more hopeful, the world seeming a little brighter than it did this morning, and goes to work the next day with a spring in his step that makes Tina and Queenie tease him because they think he got laid last night. Which he hasn’t, not yet. But maybe…

~

Graves waits two days after the meeting in the laundry room to text Credence and ask when they can see each other again. Credence pounces on that text like a starved dog on a steak and asks him to come over that night. So the minute he’s off work Graves rushes home and takes his second shower of the day, shaves, blow-dries his hair, sprays on cologne, chooses _just_ the right outfit to look good but not stiff. Even though his gut says Credence is a sure thing, pre-date anxiety is kind of _his thing_ and the ritual of getting ready calms his nerves.

He goes to a tiny studio apartment, where Credence brightly greets him, “This is where the magic happens. And as we all know, by magic I mean nothing.”

 _“Cruel Intentions?”_ Graves guesses as Credence leads him into the kitchen area.

 _“Easy A,”_ Credence corrects him with a smile. “But you were close. Um. I thought we’d have dinner together, if that’s okay…I mean, I can’t really cook,” he admits. “Not like you probably can.”

“Most nights I eat Campbell’s soup and a grilled-cheese sandwich, this is fine,” Graves assures him. “Anyone can cook if they try.”

“Anyone _can,_ doesn’t mean anyone _should,”_ Credence responds with another little smile. _“Ratatouille,”_ he adds when Graves can’t quite suppress his eye-roll.

“Oh, I know.” He likes the banter, but he has to wonder if this is all there is to Credence: movie quotes and innocent charm. Well, he’ll find out.

Credence clearly longs for a “real date.” He pours wine (from a screw-top bottle, into plastic Party City flutes) and lights candles (tealights that give off a cheap scent of fake vanilla) before they sit down to dinner (frozen meatloaf and canned green beans). He’s trying so hard and it makes Graves feel warm inside, knowing this obviously shy, awkward kid is going to such trouble for him.

“Where do you work?” Credence asks after a few minutes of painful silence.

“Kay Jewelers. The one at the mall. You?”

Credence’s face flushes and he looks unhappily down at his meatloaf. “Um. I work for my college.” Graves is about to ask why he’s so embarrassed by that, until he adds, “And I get…help. From the university. And from…the state.”

Oh, _that’s_ how he can afford to live here. Even a studio in this place runs $650 a month, and for a college student without a roommate that’s a stretch. But if he’s getting assistance…well. That would certainly explain it. “There’s no shame in that. We’ve all got to start somewhere.” He gives Credence an encouraging smile, which the younger man shyly returns. “What are you studying?”

“Psychology. I want to…to be a therapist someday,” he says carefully, as if afraid Graves will judge him for it.

“Good for you,” Graves tells him warmly, and is rewarded with a genuine smile that makes Credence infinitely more beautiful. “I never went to a four-year college, myself, just community college and then police academy. Never really had the patience for it, I suppose.”

“You were a cop?” Damn it, now Credence looks nervous all over again. “Oh. I didn’t know…”

Graves wants to tell him the full story. But it feels too intimate to tell someone who’s looking at him like he’s the Abominable Snowman, so all he says is, “Yeah. It didn’t work out. I’m much happier where I am now, believe me.”

Credence relaxes a little, and they share a piece of bumpy cake (and if there’s any doubt this kid is a born-and-bred Michigander it’s gone now) for dessert. Graves learns that Credence, for all is shyness, is a real sweetheart when he decides to talk. If Graves can get him going on psychology he has real opinions, not just quippy quotes, and it’s _nice._ He’s self-conscious in the way people are in their early twenties, but he’s not performative about it. And when he does make eye contact, Graves can’t help but feel pinned to the spot.

He thinks if he lets himself he could easily fall in love, and he decides he’ll worry about that later.

Ten minutes into the post-dinner movie Credence takes bold action and crawls into Graves’ lap for a sloppy kiss that plainly shows his inexperience and his hunger. If it were anyone else, it would be terribly unsexy. But Credence is warm and eager and beautiful, and he tastes good, and Graves has deeply missed the feeling of another man’s body against his.

“Wait,” Credence says suddenly, when they’ve been ignoring the movie for a good fifteen minutes and Graves has tried to move things along by plucking at his belt buckle. “I have to fold out the bed if we’re going to do this.”

Graves internally groans at the thought of having sex on a futon, but he decides he can deal. They make out for a few more minutes, hands dipping under clothes and teeth sinking into lower lips, and Graves lets himself be lulled into arousal by Credence’s scent and his soft skin and the feeling of those long lashes against his cheek when they kiss. 

“Please tell me you have condoms,” he pants as Credence reaches for the button of his slacks. Credence does in fact have condoms, so they proceed. When Graves pulls off his pants Credence makes a little noise of longing that goes straight to his head. “Like what you see?” he asks.

Credence stares at his cock with undisguised need. “Um. Yeah. A lot. Is that going to…fit?” he asks, suddenly nervous.

Oh. Okay, so that’s what he wants. Graves is pretty well used to the guys he dates assuming he’ll only want to top, to the point where he’s not even surprised that Credence immediately goes there. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he assures Credence.

“No, let’s do it. I want to.” Credence pulls off his own clothes and lays back, reaching out to pull Graves overtop him. His touches are uncertain and far too gentle and Graves knows this kid is inexperienced, if not a complete virgin.

And the thing is, it’s _nice._ Once they get naked Credence is more tactile and he touches Graves everywhere, all big eyes and soft lips and pure need. A few times he makes like he might roll them over, get on top—and Graves would very much like it if he did—but he doesn’t. But his kisses eventually slow from messy demands to sweet promises, and his hands run up and down Graves’ body like he’s trying to memorize it, and he’s so gentle but so eager and, even if he’s not as confident as Graves would like, what he’s willing to do _does_ feel good.

“You can pull my hair if you want,” Graves urges, guiding Credence’s hands to his hair as he makes to go down on him. “I won’t break, sweetheart, I promise.”

Credence is, and there is truly no other way to put this, _packing some heat._ The idea of sitting on that cock is very, _very_ appealing—but no—Credence expects to be taken and Graves is going to give him what he wants. But that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun first. He drops to his knees beside the futon and swallows Credence down as far as he can, relishing the moans he garners in response. _Oh, that’s more like it._

Giving oral has always been a favorite activity of his. But Credence is near-silent as Graves sucks him off, his only noise the occasional pained whimper, and he actually apologizes when he comes. “Don’t be,” Graves reassures him. “That was the point. It should help you relax a little.”

Credence looks desperately unhappy and something inside Graves just about breaks. “I don’t think I can…here.” Without much prompting or ceremony, he reaches over and starts to paw gently at Graves’ erection, his eyes darting nervously about the room as he says in a tiny voice, “I can do this. Is this okay?”

“It’s fine.” But it’s not, it’s really _not._ He could get an orgasm pretty much anytime, with much less effort than he’s gone to tonight. He wants to hold and be held, to exchange soft, lazy kisses lying side-by-side in a warm bed buzzing with pheromones and anticipation—something, _anything_ more intimate than a shy hand job on a lumpy futon.

Credence retreats after he brings Graves to climax, curling up in the corner by the wall with an expression of painful anxiety. He watches Graves dress and says softly, “I’m sorry I chickened out.”

“It’s not the end of the world.” Graves tries to smile at him. And he has no idea where this comes from, because he’s already about ten seconds away from writing this whole relationship off as a non-starter, but he offers, “We can try it again sometime.”

Credence smiles and it’s like sunshine, like personified starlight, like the miracle Graves has waited for all his life. But even as Credence walks him out and he makes his way across the grounds back to his own apartment, he knows that he can’t do this. Credence is beautiful and young and obviously full of potential, but he needs someone who can look after him in a way that Graves, at this point, honestly isn’t sure he can.

~

They do try again.

Credence actually takes him out this time, in a manner of speaking, to an “open and affirming” event at his university. It’s a fundraiser disguised as a party. $5 cover charge, mocktails, Kirkland brand chips and brownies, horny 18-year-old boys in skirts making out in the corners. It would be charming, if it wasn’t so loud and grating and overstimulating to the point of giving him a headache.

They leave early, to what seems to be mutual relief, and go back to Credence’s place again. Credence is equally reticent this time, indicating that he wants to keep going and drawing back again when it gets too close to sex for his liking, only to finally admit, as he’s lying underneath Graves and clinging to him like a frightened child, “I don’t…I don’t really know how to do this.”

Graves pulls back. He doesn’t want to be “daddy.” He wants an equal, not someone who has to be coaxed and babied through the most basic steps of a relationship. And Credence is good, and so lovely, and it hurts because Graves so badly wants this to work. That first interaction in the laundry room was so sweet, a delicate promise of something more…but he can’t be what Credence wants and clearly needs, and so. Well. That only leaves him with one option, doesn’t it.

“I don’t think I’m in a place where I can teach you,” is what he finally says, and it sounds weak, but it’s the only thing he can say that won’t make him feel like the world’s biggest jackass.

Credence nods and sits up. “I kind of figured that,” he says softly. He doesn’t look heartbroken, much to Graves’ relief. Just…sort of resigned.

“You’re really sweet, and I like you a lot,” Graves tells him, “but I don’t think we should see each other again.” It comes out flat, clunky, like the false benediction that it is.

Credence nods and stands up. Pulls on his sweatshirt and wraps it around himself like armor. Graves is relieved that Credence seems to be taking this calmly, seems to see the inherent truth in Graves’ words. He’s agonizingly polite as he shows Graves the door, makes the perfunctory offering of, “I hope we can still be friends.” It’s hollow. They will never be friends now, and they both know it.

The door closes behind Graves with a final click. He stands there for a second, collecting himself, trying not to feel too guilty. He fails at that last one when, just as he’s about to walk away, he hears a telltale sob from behind the closed door and runs away like the world’s biggest jackass, which he now knows he is.

He feels the loss that night as he’s lying in his empty bed. It wasn’t enough, but it _could_ have been, and he can’t stop beating himself up for wanting _more._

~

Queenie Goldstein, Graves acknowledges with grumpy resignation, is a god damned mind reader. He gets to work the morning after he badly dumps Credence and finds her waiting with his favorite white chocolate caramel mocha. She has an unerring instinct for when he’ll need a coffee. “I don’t want to talk about it,” are the first words out of his mouth.

“Wasn’t gonna ask,” she says patiently, and hands over the coffee, giggling in transparent delight as he takes a drink and sighs in relief, a caffeine addict getting a much-needed fix.

The store gets busy and Graves welcomes the excuse to stop thinking about Credence. He watches a couple pick out an engagement ring together, tries not to cringe while assisting a father and daughter in choosing the teenage girl’s purity ring, helps a dad-to-be customize a birthstone bracelet as a gift for his expecting wife, and rounds off the first half of his shift quite nicely by watching a rising senior literally jump with excitement while designing her class ring.

He loves this job, especially when he gets to be an accessory to such exciting milestones. It makes him feel better about how unexciting his own life is at the moment, being able to live somewhat vicariously through these lucky people who are getting married and starting families and moving up in the world.

And then he comes back from his break, and all at once his life _becomes_ exciting, so quickly it’s all he can do to keep up.

A male customer comes into the store and heads straight for Graves’ section of the counter. Graves looks down to hide his smile, bracing himself for _please help I have no idea what I’m doing,_ but when he looks up he is sucked into the deep-brown whirlpools that are the man’s eyes. “Oh. Hi,” he says, a little dumbly.

“Good afternoon,” the man replies in a deep voice with an accent that Graves can’t quite place. He’s handsome, unfairly handsome, his fair, graying hair just tousled enough to look deliberate, his features striking, his entire being radiating a sort of commanding ease that instantly makes Graves go weak in the knees. “I was hoping that you could assist me in selecting a gift for someone…rather special. I was thinking a chain, a necklace of some sort perhaps.”

Graves is used to men making a beeline for him when they see him behind the counter. But this man is looking at him as if he belongs inside one of the display cases, and it’s leaving him feeling just the slightest bit unmoored. “What’s the occasion?” he finally asks as he pulls a tray of chains out from under the counter.

“Well, that’s a good question,” the man says with a knowing little smirk that makes Graves’ heart pick up in pace just the slightest bit. “I suppose you could say it’s…an offering, of sorts. A courtship gift, let’s call it.”

“I see. So you don’t actually know this person that well, but you want to,” Graves translates, finally collecting himself enough to hit his stride. He’s good at what he does, unnervingly attractive customer or not.

“That is the situation in a nutshell, yes.” The man points to a trio of thick rope chains, one in white gold, one in rose gold, and one in yellow gold. “Are those intended for men or women?”

“Oh…I don’t think it matters.” Graves pulls out the tray of chains and lays it on the counter. “Are you looking for a gender-specific piece, then? Because if it is for a lady I’d suggest something with a pendant, but—”

“It is not, in fact, for a lady.” The man leans forward on the counter, just the slightest bit. “And with that knowledge in mind…” A deliberate look at his name tag. _“…Percival,_ what would you suggest, hmm? White gold, or to be a bit more daring…rose, perhaps?”

His eyes dart up and lock onto Graves’ with a solemnity that suggests the fate of the world hangs on the answer to this question. Graves blinks twice and, with great effort, finds his voice. “Ah. Well. I suppose that depends on when you’ll be presenting this gift to your, uh, your person, and…I don’t know. What color they’ll be wearing when you do, I suppose?”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but those dark eyes are staring into his soul and it’s all he can do to keep air in his lungs. The temperature in the room seems to have gone up about twenty degrees. He hasn’t felt this vulnerable in front of a potential crush since he was sixteen and he has to fight the urge to demand, _what the hell are you doing to me?_

The man seems to know precisely the effect he has on Graves, as he leans in a few inches closer and says softly, almost seductively, “I suppose as I don’t know those hypothetical scenarios, the best thing to do would be to choose something neutral.” He taps the display case. “The white gold, do you think?”

“That’s…a safe choice,” Graves manages, fighting for some professionalism.

“Safe? Is ‘safe’ here intended to mean ‘dull?’” the man asks, his eyebrows raised. “What, then, do you think I ought to take a chance, and offer rose instead?”

A faint blush creeps over his face and Graves badly wants to drop his eyes to the floor, get himself out of this moment. But he keeps their eye contact as he tells the man, “Well, I don’t—I mean— _I_ like the rose gold, yeah, but—”

Before he can finish _but it’s up to you,_ the man cuts him off. “Then I will defer to your expertise. And don’t bother with your generic gift-wrapping, I’ll take on that task myself, thank you.”

Graves finally breaks their dizzying eye contact. “I’ll just…send it over to the register, then,” he murmurs, still half in the man’s thrall but well aware that in a few seconds he’ll be kicking himself for acting like a teenager with a crush.

He plucks a boxed necklace from under the counter and passes it to Tina, trying hard not to look as though he’s just been struck dumb and knowing he’s failing miserably. Queenie notices, because she notices everything, and when he ducks back into the stockroom to get his bearings she follows. “What kinda magic fairy dust did he hit you with?” she whispers gleefully. “I’ve never seen you like that before. You looked like you were gonna pass out!”

“Almost did,” he admits with a low, agonized groan. “God, I can’t believe I just stared at him like that. Do me a favor and never, _ever_ bring this up to me again. I just want to forget it ever happened.”

“I bet he comes back to see you. He was flirting, you know,” she informs him.

“Doubt it. He just bought a five-hundred-dollar chain to impress some guy he wants to date.” He looks miserably out to the sales floor and fervently wishes his shift were already over. “I can’t believe…God, he was just…”

“He’s handsome,” Queenie agrees with a shameless grin. “And he had his eye on you, I’m telling you. I’m never wrong about this stuff.”

Graves wants to believe her, but he can’t let himself hope, because that way lies madness. So he shakes away the last vestiges of the spell the mysterious customer cast over him, and goes back out to the sales floor determined to forget the man ever existed.

~

Two days later, he opens his door to find a package has been delivered: a familiar-looking black velvet box, sitting conspicuously atop a red envelope.

Graves picks up the envelope first, hands trembling, his heart fluttering madly in his chest. He flicks open the stiff white card, only for his heart to stop when he sees what’s inside: _You have enchanted me, dear Percival. I would very much like to take you to dinner. Yours, G. Grindelwald._

Holding his breath, he opens the velvet box next and there it is: the rose-gold chain he helped the dashing customer choose just the other day. Oh. _Oh,_ well then. Queenie was right, yet again, and now he has a choice to make.

At work, the girls mysteriously disappear ten minutes before his lunch break. Not a minute into his suddenly-enforced solitude, _G. Grindelwald_ appears. “Did you get my offering?” he asks with a knowing smile.

Graves can feel the color rising to his cheeks. It’s not fair, he thinks distantly, that someone should be able to affect him like this at his age. But almost defiantly he lifts his head and draws back the collar of his shirt, revealing the thick, but oh so delicate, pink chain that has been hot against his skin all morning.

The man smiles again, letting his eyes comb deliberately over Graves’ in a way that makes it only too obvious why he’s looking. “Well, isn’t that something. I’m quite flattered that you think so softly of me, that you would wear my gift like a talisman. Now…I do know that you cannot be seen fraternizing with customers, so I’ll make this brief: I will be at the Whitney tomorrow night at eight o’clock. You may decide not to come if you don’t return my affections. I will understand. But if you _are_ interested…where will I see you, and at what time?”

“The—the Whitney Mansion.” This time Graves can’t stop his tongue from darting out to wet his lips. “At eight o’clock. Tomorrow night. I—I’ll be there,” he finishes, wishing he sounded more certain of himself. But honestly, he can’t help but feel a little bit unnerved. This whole situation is, to put it plainly, very much unprecedented. 

“Excellent.” G. Grindelwald gives him one last keen look before he disappears.

Queenie reappears and teases him mercilessly. “I told you,” she says with a grin, holding out a very welcome white chocolate caramel mocha.

“I haven’t felt like that in _years,”_ Graves admits. He swallows half the coffee in one gulp, desperate for something to steady his nerves. It’s not that he’s fully unused to romantic attention—he’s not stupid, he knows what he looks like—but he’s used to being read as the “alpha male” of the room, not as someone who wants to be _courted._ Which he has to admit, at least to himself, he _does._

“Didja see how he was looking at you? Like he wanted me to ring _you_ up for him instead of that necklace.” Queenie squeals when he pulls aside his collar so she can see the pink chain. “Ooh, Graves…you’re in love, aren’t you honey?”

 _“Way_ too soon for that,” he tells her sternly, covering up the chain.

But when he’s getting ready for his date, he can’t help but _hope,_ just a little. Once again he takes his time preparing, heart thrumming with anticipation. Fixing his hair, shaving with a real razor, carefully choosing just the right cologne. He ends up wearing a light gray suit with a white shirt, looping the rose-gold chain through the collar in lieu of a tie. 

It’s shallow and he knows it, but he appreciates his looks; it’s comforting to know that there’s at least one thing about himself that gives him confidence. Some people, after all, really do just appreciate the package, and don’t look too hard at what’s inside the box.

 _Yeah, because that worked so well with Credence, didn’t it. If looks were all that mattered you’d be having disappointing sex with him on his futon right now._ No. Graves firmly shakes off that unkind thought. Credence isn’t bad. He’s just sweet and shy and isn’t ready for a relationship yet, and that isn’t his fault.

~

If G. Grindelwald is going for intimidation, he’s got it on lock. In keeping with the whole “Dracula” vibe, he’s asked Graves to meet him for dinner at an actual mansion, and Graves feels like he’s stepped back in time. He’s shown to a private dining room, one long table by a giant window in front of a fireplace. G. Grindelwald stands there waiting for him, intimidating as all fucking get-out in a—Jesus Christ, is he actually wearing an _opera coat,_ in _August?_ Well. No one can accuse him of half-assing it, that’s for sure.

Graves is starting to wonder if this is a mistake when an attendant nudges him inside and hands him a glass of champagne, promising to send in a waiter shortly. He turns his attention to his rather amused-looking date. “Did you know I was going to come?” he asks, almost defiantly. He doesn’t want to be thought of as easily-won, whatever else might happen tonight.

“Oh, I certainly didn’t _know.”_ G. Grindelwald smoothly comes around the table and over to the door, where he catches Graves’ hand in his and delicately kisses the back, like they’re in a movie. “But I will confess that I dearly _hoped.”_

“Look, mister—”

“Gellert, please darling. I’d certainly like to be on a first name basis with you.”

Graves has absolutely _no idea_ how to handle this. For all his fantasies of being chased, courted, _wanted,_ he never thought of how unnerving it might be to actually have someone’s attention focused so singularly on him. “I—usually don’t go by my first name,” is what he finally says, but just then a waiter comes in and presents them both with menus.

Grindelwald—Gellert—orders for him. Asks what he likes, whether he’s averse or allergic to anything, smiles and nods when Graves mentions he likes seafood and prefers it to other types of meat…and then orders for them both. And he’s considerate enough to ask if Graves drinks alcohol before ordering them each a glass of wine.

He’s elegant and poised and unnervingly perceptive, and Graves feels, suddenly, like he’s been dropped into a romantic drama because _these things don’t happen to him._ Because he’s used to disappointing hookups, one-night stands that are hardly worth the effort, non-starters on dating apps he refuses to use anymore. He’s used to his dates assuming he’ll take care of them, expecting to offer him nothing in return.

But that’s not what happens here.

Gellert is protective. Gentle. He looks directly into Graves’ eyes while they speak, places a warm hand over his just often enough to leave Graves wanting more, has a way of speaking that dulls the ambient noise of the room to near-silence. The conversation flows easily, and as they talk Graves goes through the checklist in his mind: _older, came out late, divorced the woman he married right out of high school when he figured out he was gay, made his money in fashion and sales, works for the business end now, multiple houses, unmarried._

Gellert answers all the questions with ease, and when Graves hesitantly reveals he used to be a cop all he says is, “And do you find what you do now to be more pleasant?”

“Well…yeah.”

The hand covers his again, and Graves melts under the glow of Gellert’s smile. “Then I’d say you made a good choice, changing your career so drastically.”

Gellert pays at the end of the meal in a way that is decisive, not ostentatious; he definitely has enough money to be casual about it, but he’s not a trust-fund baby who feels the need to show off to everyone in the galaxy that he’s rich. As they leave, he walks Graves out to his car with a hand resting lightly but definitely possessively in the small of his back.

That’s it, Graves can’t help it, he just has to ask— “What do you want from me?”

Gellert stops in his tracks and _looks,_ his eyes piercing Graves with an intensity that nearly stops his heart. “If you are asking me if I’m about to require you come home with me as compensation for a lovely evening, I am not.”

“That’s not—no.” Graves shakes his head, suddenly feeling a little guilty for even asking. “I just want to know what it is you’re getting out of this.”

“You have quite a low opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

“No—oh, for fuck’s sake, look at us!” When he’s overexcited or upset, as he is now, Graves can’t really help but let a bit of his native Irish accent slip out, and he winces even as he speaks at how very _peasant_ he sounds. “You’ve clearly got the world by tail, what the hell could you possibly want with an ex-cop who works the counter at a chain jewelry store?”

“Having the world by tail, Percival, does not mean I don’t get lonely.” Gellert gently cups his hand around Graves’ jaw and looks into his eyes. “You are lovely and charming and I enjoy your company. Need this be any more than that?”

“I don’t know,” Graves says, a little loudly, trying to disguise that his heart is pounding. “I don’t know what I want right now, actually.”

Gellert moves in for the kill, one hand still delicately cupping Graves’ face as the other wraps firmly around his waist. “Let’s see if this helps you decide,” he says, and moves in for a kiss that sends Graves spiralling.

It’s intense. Gellert doesn’t try to devour him the way Credence did, but he kisses with _intent._ He presses his mouth firmly against Graves’ with clear purpose, his grip gentle but unyielding, and when his tongue lightly probes against Graves’ lips the only thing to do is open up and let him in. His lips are soft and smooth and Graves can feel a hint of stubble against his skin, and it feels _good._ Everything is sharp and clear, 5.1 surround. The last time Graves felt this invigorated was when he and a bunch of the guys from the precinct went for a polar bear swim on a freezing day in November.

Gellert pulls back to reassess and Graves immediately feels the loss, just barely keeping himself from whimpering as that wonderful, delicious mouth is drawn away from his. “Has that helped at all?” Gellert asks, his face a mingle of impish delight and the familiar anxiety of possible rejection.

Instead of answering Graves reaches up and hooks a hand around the back of the man’s neck, drawing him in for another heart-stopping kiss. Oh, he likes this, he can’t deny that…being kissed, yes, but also being kissed by someone who knows what he wants and how to give it to him. But more than that, Gellert doesn’t assume that a kiss grants him the keys to the kingdom. He doesn’t try to stick his hands up Graves’ shirt or grind on him. He’s…a gentleman. There’s no other way to put it.

“I won’t make love to you tonight,” Gellert murmurs after the second kiss, the backs of his fingers lightly stroking Graves’ cheek. “But soon. Soon I’ll have you and it will be delicious and exciting and, I promise, well worth the wait. Is that all right, my heart?”

 _My heart_ does things to Graves, and he almost laughs with how good it feels to be treated like this. Like he _matters._ Him, the whole person, not just his body, his looks, the shallow charm he hurls at customers and Tinder dates alike. “I’m okay with that,” he agrees.

~

Graves puts himself to sleep that night telling himself stories in which he and Gellert run off to elope and spend the entire autumn travelling Europe together, a dream that he usually saves for men he’s able to keep around for more than a month. He imagines sharing bottles of wine in front of a glowing fire, dipping into the hot springs of Iceland, exploring the beautiful castles of his own homeland and sampling the famous food of Gellert’s. It’s not just a romantic fantasy, but a soothing one, the kind of indulgent mental picture that helps him relax after a long and very disorienting week.

But the last image his mind gifts him before he drifts off is that of a pair of dark eyes peering out of a pale face, a shock of dark hair obscuring his vision as a plump mouth descends onto his. He wakes with tears in his eyes, unable to remember what it was he was dreaming about, and he hates that so he pretends it never happened as he gets ready for work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy all <3 <3 <3
> 
> Couple of quick TWs for this one:
> 
> -At the beginning, Credence dramatically states that he "hates his life" and says (in jest) that he wants to die. Newt jokes him out of it and it's clear from the start that no one in this exchange is actually suicidal or experiencing suicidal ideation, but just be warned it's there and could be read as insensitive or triggering.
> 
> -At the tail end, there are some allusions to depression and executive dysfunction. Not graphic or plainly stated, but again, it's there so just be warned.
> 
> Other than that, this chapter is romantic sexytimes, with a little side of drama ;) Have fun loves! ^_^

Credence stalks into the research lab and throws down his backpack. “I hate everyone, I hate my life, and I want to die,” he announces with a pout as he yanks out his lab coat and pulls it on inside-out. He pouts again, yanks off the coat as if it offended him, and pulls it back on the right way.

Dr. Newt Scamander, Credence’s teacher, boss, and best friend, chuckles understandingly as he comes over to the lab table and helps Credence get set up. “Well, if that’s the case,” he teases as he pulls Credence’s _E. coli_ sample out of the incubator, “giving this a good lick oughta get you well on the way.”

Credence squawks indignantly as he whips the cover sheet of his microscope and shoves it into the drawer. “That’s just mean!”

“I mean, there’s also bleach in the supply closet if you want options,” Newt suggests with a grin. “Or you could just jump out the window if you want to go out in style. Do a flip on the way down, perhaps?”

Credence glares at him, but the effect is somewhat undercut by his lips trying to twitch into a smile. “We’re on the _first floor!”_ But he’s laughing now, frosty one-upmanship fully ruined, and he feels infinitely better when Newt pulls him in for a one-armed hug. “Fineeee,” he sighs, as if making a great concession. “I don’t _really_ hate my life, there, are you happy?”

“Extremely,” Newt says brightly. “So, want to tell me what happened then? Before the others get here?”

“Not really,” Credence sighs. But he does anyway, pouring out the whole bitter story about Graves and how badly their dates went. “He doesn’t want to see me anymore,” he finishes unhappily. “And honestly I know he’s right, but…”

“There’s no right or wrong here, you two just don’t sound suited for each other,” Newt points out patiently.

“I don’t care! I’ve liked him forever and when I finally make a move, _that’s_ how it turns out?” Credence sits down on his stool and folds his arms. “I just wanted to have one good thing, you know? I’m just…I’m just so _tired_ of being lonely.”

Before they can continue with that conversation, the students roll in. Credence quickly finishes setting up his equipment while Newt gives the pre-lab lecture. Once he’s done, Credence moves in to do the practical demonstration. He likes being Newt’s TA for this exact reason: a lot of his psych classes are not practical this year. Lots of writing papers, lots of multiple-choice tests. He misses the physical side of things sometimes and that’s why he loves to assist with the science classes that Newt teaches.

He could do the gram stain in his sleep, and he loves the awed looks of the freshmen and sophomores in the class when he pulls it off. After class as they’re cleaning up, Newt approaches him again. “So, what’s your next move?”

Credence sighs heavily. “I don’t know. No one wants me.”

“Now, what would your counselor say if he heard you talking about yourself that way?” Newt waits until Credence has finished washing his hands to reach out and take them in his, giving little squeezes until Credence reluctantly looks up. “I’m not going to ask if you love him, because I doubt that’s possible after one or two rather awkward dates. What’s hit you so hard about this rejection, then?”

“I want to be worthy of him,” Credence admits quietly. “I just…I _liked_ him, kept looking at him without having the balls to actually _do_ something about it, and then I finally do and it’s a disaster.”

Newt nods thoughtfully. “Credence? I have a proposition for you,” he says suddenly. “How much would it harm you to push back some of your classes?”

“If anything it’d help,” Credence admits with a wince. “I didn’t qualify for as much aid this fall…just more federal loans.”

“I see…” Newt lets go of Credence’s hands only to grab his shoulders. “Then this is perfect, you see? I’m going out into the field on a brief sabbatical from teaching. I’m going to Italy first, and then to Iceland, studying different samples of matter from different historical landmarks. I’ll be gone all winter, but you…if you like, Credence, why don’t you come and be my assistant?”

Credence freezes, his heart pounding. He’s always longed to get out of America, see the world at large, but… “Dr. Scamander, I couldn’t,” he protests.

Newt, sensing that the “Dr. Scamander” is code for _boundaries, please,_ lets go of him. “I think it would do you a lot of good to get out of your comfort zone,” he says gently. “You see, Credence…I think what happened with your Graves is that you lack confidence. You can’t expect someone you love to make you whole, do you understand? The reason Tina and I work so well together is because we are whole on our own. I _can_ live without her, and she without me; we just _choose_ to trust and care for each other. Do you see the difference?”

“No,” Credence sulks. Really, he does have an idea of what Newt’s getting at, but he doesn’t want to hear it. That just sounds so terribly unromantic! He wants Graves (Percy, Credence thinks dreamily, longing for the day when he’s given permission to call that beautiful man by his romantic first name) to be absolutely lost without him. He wants Percy to be so in love with him the idea of spending even a moment apart is unthinkable. Because honestly, he knows if they were together, that’s how _he_ would feel, and he wants Percy to feel it too. Wants the fairy-tale love he’s heard so much about.

“We can talk about that later,” Newt says, in a tone so patient it’s nearly painful, and Credence cringes away, unable to meet his eyes. “Listen to me. I think you’re a brilliant student, you know that? If you show half as much passion in your other classes as you do here, you must be well on your way to graduating with honors. But…forgive me for saying so…you’ll make a terrible psychologist if you remain this shy and sheltered, darling. You understand _that,_ I think?”

He’s definitely got Credence there. With a heavy sigh Credence says, “I can’t afford to travel.”

“I think if you want to, you can find a way,” is all Newt says, leaving Credence to figure it out.

And, after a long, painful moment, he does.

 _I don’t want to,_ his heart screams that night as he packs, as he calls his classmate Nagini and hashes out the details of her taking his apartment while he’s gone, as he cries into his pillow at the thought of leaving this place. He’s seen Graves in the laundry room exactly once since they “broke up” and it was pleasurable torture, feasting his eyes on the pretty man from afar while silently aching and knowing he’d come _so close_ to having him for his own. The thought of being so far away, of not even _seeing_ him, not even being able to look at that lovely face, is painful.

But more so is the thought that the handsome Mr. Graves will _forget_ him, even more quickly if he’s not there as a reminder. Because, all right, maybe he still hopes. Maybe he thinks if he just stays there and looks pretty (he’s not stupid, Credence; he _knows_ what he looks like) Graves will forget how awkward their hookup was and be willing to try again. It’s a pathetic fantasy and he knows it. But even so…

It’s over. It has to be over. Credence has to accept, and he knows it, that Newt is right. That no matter how deeply he craves love, he’s not fit to have it. He’s too needy, too afraid. _You’re too broken to be loved,_ he thinks, and he knows his therapist would scream at him for saying it but it’s _true._ Years of abuse and fear have made him no good to anyone.

It was a nice dream. But it’s gone, and he has to be okay with that.

~

Three nights after that magical first date with Gellert, Graves receives another card in the mail, engraved with a silver heart (how extra!) and filled with fine silver glitter. _A touch of sparkle for the one who makes my heart light up,_ the card reads, along with several glowing descriptions of some of his physical attributes that Graves thinks can’t possibly be true, and an invitation to join him at the planetarium in Detroit this Saturday at five.

He’s not _quite_ to the point of singing as he goes downstairs to start his laundry, but he’s seriously tempted, and he can’t stop smiling as he sorts his clothes and starts a load of whites. He can’t stop thinking about the way Gellert says his first name, the way that kiss made him feel. Suddenly his neck feels naked without the rose-gold chain…

He turns away from the washer after starting it up and freezes in place when he sees who’s just come in: Credence. Guilt curls around his stomach like a python, ready to swallow him whole. “Uh. Hi,” he manages. Something unpleasant crawls down his spine, his heart quickens and it takes him a moment to register what this is: he’s _nervous._

Credence hesitates a moment, then calmly walks in with his laundry basket and takes a washer. “Hi,” he replies, barely making eye contact. “I won’t be down here long. I only have one load.”

“It’s your laundry room too.” Graves manages a little laugh. “I, uh. I didn’t ask for a no-contact order, you know. You don’t have to…”

He’s not sure where he’s going with this. _You don’t have to avoid me._ But that’s what he wanted, isn’t it? Something about this just feels off to him and he doesn’t like it. They broke up. No, that’s not even it—you can’t break up with someone you weren’t even dating. And he has someone else now…

Oh. That must be it, Graves realizes as Credence finishes stuffing his laundry into the washer and tosses in a Tide pod. He’s feeling guilty because he has someone now and Credence doesn’t. And that’s not right. Credence is so sweet, he needs someone to take care of him. Even if it can’t be Graves, it should be _someone._

Credence finishes putting in his laundry, acting as if Graves isn’t even there, and reluctantly Graves settles into a chair with a book. Credence takes over the lone table with his schoolwork, and an hour like that passes before the washer finally beeps and Credence puts his clothes in the dryer. The silence is unbearable. Graves just about forgets his own laundry in the tension; he doesn’t want this.

 _But you didn’t want him,_ he reminds himself. _You tried to date him. It didn’t work out. What did you expect, that he’d come down here and trade quips with you even though you broke his heart?_

“Are you…okay?” he finally asks when the dryer has rumbled on for nearly forty-five minutes and he can’t take it anymore.

“Oh, yeah. You?” Credence replies, and he finally meets Graves’ eyes and—oh.

Oh, there it is. He’s acting flippant but there’s something haunted in those dark eyes, and Graves feels at once a bit better _and_ more like an asshole. “I’m okay,” he says, trying not to look as guilty as he feels.

“I meant what I said about being friends,” Credence offers, in a tone surprisingly gentle for someone whose eyes look that painfully empty. “If you want to come over you c—”

“I can’t,” Graves cuts him off, because he knows what Credence is really asking for is another chance. Gellert crashes back into his mind with the force of a freight train, his hand subconsciously straying to his throat as if to check for that chain…which is not there. “I’m, uh. I’m seeing someone and he won’t like that, I don’t think.”

Credence’s head jerks a little, and Graves wants to grab the bleach sitting on top of the counter and down a few shots of it, _anything_ to get him out of this moment. Finally Credence says softly, “I wasn’t asking anything of you. Actually, I…I’m leaving. I’m going to Europe with someone, we leave tomorrow and won’t be back until April.”

It’s nearing the end of August, and something about that punches Graves right in the belly. Slightly winded, his heart crawling into his throat, he says, “You’re leaving for Europe with someone you just met? What about school?”

“Oh, it’s all right, it’s one of my professors, I know him really well,” Credence quickly assures him, and Graves isn’t quite sure why this _hurts,_ because—for fuck’s sake, he didn’t want Credence, he was just thinking Credence needed to be cared for; a professor could do that quite well, why is his stomach aching and his heart rattling against his ribcage like it’s trying to break out?

Trying for some casual cheer he manages with a smile, “Well then. I guess I don’t have to worry about you.”

“No, you don’t.” Credence stands up, comes alarmingly close (all right, just barely out of arm’s reach, but it’s still alarming) and sits in a folding chair near Graves’. With unnatural solemnity he says, “I can take care of myself.”

The buzzer for the dryer sounds, and Credence goes to collect his things from the dryer. Graves sits there reeling, not quite as excited about the planetarium anymore, and not sure _why._ Everything is suddenly working out for him, and Credence just flat-out told him _I’m all right, you didn’t hurt me, you don’t need to worry about me._

So why does it still hurt to see him go?

~

He drinks two beers for courage and then sends Gellert a text. _Blossom Heath Park. One hour._

At the park, he hides under a willow tree, his stomach dancing the entire time, and is somehow surprised when Gellert finds him with ease. “Percival,” Gellert greets him softly, coming close at a slow, cautious pace as if to not frighten him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise, but quite welcome, request for a meeting?”

“I just…” Graves isn’t sure what to say. _I needed to remember you were real. I needed to know you’re worth it, that I didn’t choose wrong when I passed him up. I needed to feel you, to feel something…_

He leans against the base of the tree and swallows hard as Gellert approaches him. “You couldn’t wait until Saturday, obviously,” Gellert says as he reaches out and cups his palm over Graves’ cheek. “Feeling a little insecure, are we?” Graves casts his eyes down because, well, _yes_ but he’s not going to _say_ that. “Oh, goodness. Have I not made my attraction to you clear, darling? What must I do, hmm?”

“It’s not like that,” Graves finally says, raising his eyes to meet Gellert’s. “I just needed to see you, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m here now, precious.” Gellert rests a gentle hand on his waist, and then leans in for a soft, tender kiss. Graves can’t help but melt into it, his own hands drifting up to Gellert’s chest, tangling in the fabric of his shirt. Gellert’s mouth is as warm and firm as he remembers and the way his hand protectively curves around Graves’ neck, thumb gently tracing the back of his skull, makes his knees go weak. He lets his eyes flutter closed as he opens his mouth to Gellert’s probing tongue, the slickness of the older man’s mouth a delicious contrast to the hard, rough bark of the tree digging in through his shirt.

The oppressive August heat, the humidity, it all combines to make Graves feel slick and sweaty and objectively filthy, and it doesn’t help at all when Gellert’s hand slides under his shirt to caress his skin. _He’s getting caught up in it too,_ Graves realizes, and something flushes through him at the thought, makes him feel hot and weak and _needy as fuck._

 _If he lets go I’ll die,_ he thinks as Gellert’s mouth explores his neck, and a moan spills from his lips and he thinks he means it.

They kiss for what feels like eternity, kiss until thunder rumbles in the sky and rain begins to permeate the branches of the willow tree. “We have to go,” Gellert whispers into the tender skin behind Graves’ ear. “It’s a storm, darling, and we’re underneath a lightning rod.”

Graves just makes a noise of protest and draws him back in. It feels too good to let Gellert go just yet; he hasn’t been kissed like this in years. Gellert isn’t harsh or devouring, but he’s _firm._ There’s no doubt who’s ultimately in charge here, and when he draws Graves’ lower lip between his teeth and bites, Graves feels possessed. Marked. _I belong to you now. No going back._

The rain gets heavier, and when the first flash of lightning splits the sky Gellert draws back and firmly says, “We’re going home. You can follow me.”

Graves’ heart thrums at the possibilities in that sentence. “Okay,” is all he says, and staggers back to the parking lot on shaking legs, wondering if this is real or if he’s fallen into the most delicious dream of his life.

~

Gellert’s house is nice, a comforting little two-story cottage on the harbor, barely fifteen minutes’ walk from the park. They take Graves’ car there on account of the rain and even the air-conditioning isn’t enough to cool them off. There’s no getting off the train at this point, Graves thinks, and he’s not sure whether that’s a good sign or a bad omen.

The rain is so heavy by the time they get there it’s hard to see and they have to struggle against the wind a little to get from the car to the door. Once inside they quickly, haphazardly dry off as best as they can with a handful of towels in the guest bathroom downstairs. Then Gellert directs him upstairs to the master bedroom. “You’ll find a pair of bathrobes there, and I strongly suggest you put one of them on, get out of those terrible wet clothes before you get chilled. I’m going to make us something hot to drink, and I’ll be with you very shortly.”

Graves agrees absently and wanders up the stairs to find a pretty bedroom with rich dark-red walls, dark wood furniture and soft cream-colored bedding and decor. It’s…cozy, and there’s something gentle about it, an almost tangible feeling of safety. The bathrobes are on a hook by the door, and for a moment Graves actually considers changing into one.

Instead he goes into the bathroom and takes off his damp clothes, lays them out on the towel rack. He hesitates—underwear too? Yes, he decides, and carefully slips those off as well. He pat-dries his damp skin, rubs his hair with a towel until it’s dry enough to satisfy him and goes back out to the bedroom. Still no sign of Gellert, and with his heart doing cartwheels in his chest, Graves carefully lies face-down on the bed, lying on one of the pillows while cradling another to his chest. He’s well aware of how vulnerable this position makes him appear and far from feeling anxious about it, he hopes it sends a clear message.

Even just lying here feels good. The bedspread is smooth and silky, the pillows just firm enough to provide support. It’s nice to lie on something soft, to hear the ambient noise of the room, to smell fabric softener and something that must be Gellert’s shampoo on the pillows. Graves lets himself relax, even as the first trickles of arousal begin to run through him at the thought of his host discovering him here like this.

He’s not sure how long he lies there before he smells something sweet and fruity. Tea with lemon and honey, he realizes distantly as footsteps alert him to Gellert’s presence. He could still sit up, pretend he just fell asleep here. Instead, he looks over his shoulder, meeting Gellert’s surprised eyes in a clear challenge.

_Here I am. Come and take me, if you will._

He watches as Gellert, surprise giving way to delight, slowly makes his way into the room, sets down the steaming mugs on the nightstand, and disrobes himself, keeping their eye contact the entire time. Graves shamelessly looks his fill, noting with some approval that Gellert appears to be in good shape, firm chest giving way to a soft belly, toned thighs, _very_ nicely-proportioned member that appears to be well on its way to interested in the proceedings. He likes the dusting of hair over the older man’s very appealing body, and his own cock stirs, the tentative sensation of arousal slowly blossoming into something stronger, more heady.

When Gellert is fully naked Graves closes his eyes, another obvious sign of submission. Moments later he feels the bed dip, a warm hand comes down on his back and he _melts,_ his skin tingling under Gellert’s steady, soothing touch. “Is this what it appears to be, my heart?” comes a soft voice, low and husky with desire. Graves shivers a little and, as if to comfort him, Gellert traces gentle circles across his back. “I need to hear you say the words, lovely. I’ll only have you if you’re certain.”

Graves opens his eyes again, meeting Gellert’s with kind of a languid ease that he hopes shows just how unafraid he is to let this beautiful man take him. “I want you,” he says plainly. “Is that enough?”

Gellert lies beside him and draws a satin-smooth throw blanket up around them both, one strong arm carefully wrapping around Graves’ waist. “I’ll care for you well, my sweet. I give you my word.”

“No need to promise,” Graves says, and then moans seconds later as Gellert’s mouth descends onto the back of his neck. “I—ooh!—I trust you.”

He’s turned over then so that he’s on his side, so that they’re face-to-face, and Gellert holds him protectively against his chest, hands roaming and freely exploring as they trade lazy, tender kisses. “How would you most like to proceed from here?” Gellert asks a few minutes later. “Would you like me to take the lead, my heart, or would you prefer to do that?”

What he’s asking, in his flowery way, is _do you want to top or should I,_ and Graves is pleased that he asked; usually his partners assume. “I want,” he begins, and then a low groan escapes as Gellert places a teasing line of kisses down his neck. “I want you to—oh! _Fuck,”_ he moans, writhing as Gellert’s tongue teases the sensitive skin in the hollow of his collarbone. “God, fuck me,” he demands, the words coming out in a rush.

“Such a needy, sweet thing,” Gellert coos, his hands gently kneading into the fleshiest part of Graves’ thighs, almost to his ass. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you with pleasure, darling. All you need do now, is take what you’re given and allow me to spoil you.”

He’s not sure how he feels about being completely passive—he’d entertained hopes of riding Gellert at some point—but Graves certainly isn’t going to complain. Not now, when Gellert is nibbling at his neck and teasing his thighs apart with strong, sure fingers. And definitely not a moment later as Gellert flips him back onto his belly and kisses a promising trail down his spine, only to gently spread his cheeks apart and eat him out until Graves is a writhing, begging mess, tears of pleasure soaking the pillow beneath him as he pleads for a release that he is only granted when he doesn’t think he can take it for one more second.

~

Credence spends a good hour crying in his room. _I’m seeing someone._ It took Graves less than two weeks to replace him.

(He tries to convince himself he can still hope, because of the look on Graves’ face when he said _I’m going to Europe._ He knows it’s a lie. Graves doesn’t want him. He’s just concerned like the good guy he is.)

He dries his eyes and finishes packing. There’s nothing left for him here now, and he knows it.

He’s kidding himself, he thinks as he lies down to sleep that night, if he thinks he was ever going to be good enough for Percival Graves.

But now…he’s awake when his alarm goes off and he knows…now he can start over. No one in Italy or Iceland or on the boat that will take them there knows him. He doesn’t have to be shy, broken Credence Barebone once he gets overseas now, does he?

At this point starting over, he decides, is his only hope.

~  
  


“Ohhh _fuck!”_ Thunder rumbles as Graves is pinned to the mattress, three wide fingers sinking deep inside him. He grinds hard into the mattress, desperate for even some small bit of relief. Gellert has been winding him up for ages now, insisting he will finally claim Graves “when I’m certain you’re well prepared.”

He’s two orgasms in and it doesn’t matter, because what he really craves is to be fucked out beyond all sense and reason and it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen unless he takes it for himself. He writhes out from under Gellert and struggles until, with a breathy, triumphant laugh, he manages to reverse their positions. Far from looking upset at having lost the struggle for dominance, Gellert looks excited, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he asks, “Having so gloriously trapped me, what will you do with me now, precious?”

Graves decides to answer with action and straddles Gellert, sinking down onto his cock with a sigh of actual relief. God, he’s been craving this all night. He grabs the headboard and rocks up and down, head flung back with a primal groan as he takes Gellert as deep as he possibly can. “Fuck yes,” he pants, and starts to bounce a little faster. “Fuck. God that’s so good.”

“Mmm, is this the way you prefer to make love, then?” Gellert squeezes Graves’ hips, helping him bounce up and down. “Taking it as hard and fast as your precious heart desires, feeling me inside you so deep I could penetrate your very soul?”

“Yes, _fuck_ yeah, just like that—God, _yeah,_ please,” Graves bites out, gripping the headboard so hard his knuckles go white as he rides Gellert harder, faster. Tears leak from his eyes and his breath comes in short gasps as his body screams for more, he’s so _close,_ the stretch and _push_ of Gellert inside him working his pleasure up to an epic crescendo.

“This is what you’ve craved since the beginning, is it not? Mmm, yes darling, take of me what you desire,” Gellert encourages him, stroking up and down Graves’ sweat-slicked back. “So close—ahh, there it is, let me see the—oh!—the wonderful sight of you lost in pleasure, my heart.”

And Graves _does._ With a strangled noise of pleasure he clenches down on Gellert hard, bliss searing through his veins like a drug. His release splatters across Gellert’s chest and he lets go of the headboard, curling in on himself with a keening little cry. The pleasure is so strong it verges on pain and he actually twitches and jolts when he feels Gellert come inside him. He’s sweaty and disgusting and he feels so good, so absolutely incandescent with pleasure he’s almost surprised when he looks down at his own skin and it isn’t glowing.

He rolls to the side and lets himself splay out like a starfish, breathing hard, willing his heart to slow down. “I think you ruined me,” he says with a choked little laugh.

Gellert rolls over and gently cups a hand over his heaving belly. “You haven’t been given this kind of release for some time, have you,” he observes quietly.

Graves laughs again and weakly manages to shake his head. “Kinda had a dry spell lately, yeah,” he admits. “Just a little hard to find the right person.”

“Interesting, the requests you made of me tonight.” Gellert curves his hand over Graves’ waist and pulls him in a little closer. “You know, typically someone who prefers to be on top when making love is grasping at control, but I’ve found they often secretly crave submission. Tell me, Percival…” He leans in, lips just barely brushing the temple of Graves’ head. “Do you enjoy being made to surrender control?”

It’s a fair question, really, and it’s funny that Gellert should ask, because last time he tried to have sex all he wanted was to be topped and tonight, well, he just felt he _had_ to top from the bottom, apparently. But right now, he’s too tired to think properly about his answer. All he wants is to be held. He rolls over and presses his back to Gellert’s messy chest, groaning quietly at the feeling of Gellert’s sweat mingling with his own. Gellert hums softly and strokes his chest, and for just a little while all is right with the world.

~

He wakes feeling deliciously sore, wrapped up like a present in the silk charmeuse sheets that feel sinfully good against his tender skin. Memories of the previous night come rushing back and Graves lets out a brief, disbelieving laugh. Because it’s like something out of someone else’s life, something that feels stolen and intimate and precious.

Sex is one thing. Sex is good and he’s no stranger to that. What’s new is the feeling of security, of being both wanted and cherished. He remembers the way Gellert looked at him, spoke to him, and it’s such a far cry from the adolescent fumblings in police academy and the disappointing dating-app hookups he once subjected himself to that it makes him laugh all over again. He stretches like a cat and sucks in a deep breath. The window is cracked, and the room smells like thunderstorm.

Wincing a little as he moves, Graves drags himself out of bed and goes to the window, pushing it up and taking in a slow, luxurious breath of that heavy, clean-smelling air. It’s good. He closes his eyes as the breeze drifts in, and there’s something about standing here, shamelessly naked and inhaling the sweet post-storm air, that makes him feel achingly decadent. He doesn’t want this moment to end, it feels so good.

And then it gets better as a pair of strong arms close gently around his waist, and a mouth descends onto his neck. “Sweet thing,” Gellert hums softly against his skin. “My heart, my precious. You weren’t fantasizing about escaping, I hope?”

“Mmm. Never.” Graves lets himself be turned around and kissed tenderly on the mouth. “I don’t, ah…I don’t know if I can handle another round,” he admits. He loved the sex, yes, but it’s been a while and he _is_ very sore.

Gellert strokes up and down his back with those big, gentle hands, presses soft kisses to his neck and face. Graves hears him murmur something in German, and he doesn’t speak the language but the look in Gellert’s eyes tells him all he needs to know.

And then his feet leave the ground and he gasps out loud, and before he can ask _what the hell_ he is borne across the room and carefully settled on the unmade bed. The silk sheets have cooled, and he can’t help but moan as the slick fabric makes contact with the sensitive skin of his lower back. “Oh,” he breathes, and then the air is stolen from his lungs.

Gellert kisses with intent, every time. Whether it’s a tender interlude or the messy, ramping lead-up to intense sex, it’s always with purpose, always with no doubt left as to what he wants. _You’re mine,_ each kiss says. _I’m going to keep you, and you’re going to enjoy it._

He reluctantly parts their lips only to mark a trail of luxurious, open-mouthed kisses down Graves’ chest. He seems to get lost in the unmarked patches of skin, the almost-concave belly, the little hollow under his ribcage. “So delicious, your skin,” he breathes into Graves’ belly, his breath tracing ticklish patterns across every sensitive spot. “Your body is divine, sweet Percival. In this moment I truly kneel before an idol.”

 _Percival._ The way he says Graves’ name is incredible. Special. Graves doesn’t think he’s ever felt this intimate with someone, not even the first time he ever had sex, and something compels him to make himself even more vulnerable. “Percy,” he murmurs, tilting his head back to bare his neck as Gellert kisses his way back up his body. “You can…ooh…” His eyes flutter as Gellert’s mouth explores his collarbones. “You can call me Percy. Please.”

Because—maybe it’s time to let go of that tough-guy cop once and for all. Maybe “Graves” was always the idol. Maybe, just maybe, people like Credence wouldn’t demand so much of him if he didn’t go out of his way to seem untouchable— _Credence has nothing to do with this Percival, shut the fuck up_ —if he didn’t expend so much energy on making himself perfect when he doesn’t really want to be.

Maybe he doesn’t have to be “Graves” or just “the ex-cop” anymore. Maybe he can let that go once and for all, now that he’s found someone who doesn’t, quite frankly, seem to give half a shit about his past.

“Percy,” Gellert repeats in his bone-quivering rumble. “Darling Percy. You’re so lovely, it very nearly pains me to look at you. Has anyone ever made love to you before a mirror? If not, I do think I’ll be the one to claim that privilege.”

Graves… _Percy_ laughs even as shivers run down his spine. Oh God. That mental image alone could put him down for a week if he lets it. “Not now. Sore,” he reminds Gellert.

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you, my heart.” Gellert slides an arm under his neck and covers his thin hip with the other hand, thumb gently tracing patterns across Percy’s belly. “Is there a conversation here that we ought to have, perhaps? I don’t like to leave things open-ended, you know.”

Oh. Well. They’ve already got _here,_ have they… “I don’t know. What is there to say other than _can we for the love of God please do this again sometime?”_ Percy says, only half-joking; he wants to do this every day for the rest of his life.

Gellert smiles and leans in to steal a butterfly-light kiss before he says, “I don’t want to set unrealistic expectations, my heart, but I do very much want to continue seeing you. I do travel an exorbitant amount for work, you know. And I do have to admit that it’s not in my nature to settle down…”

He trails off, and Percy realizes he’s supposed to say something here. “That’s okay?” he settles on. “I mean. I’m not asking for a diamond ring here or anything but, uh. I…really like you.” He cringes a little at how lame it sounds, how very high school.

Luckily, Gellert doesn’t seem to mind. “So we agree, then, that we will not ‘take it too fast,’ as the kids say, but merely remain content to enjoy one another’s company in an…intimate fashion…for the time being?”

Percy tries not to giggle like a teenage girl because, honestly, Gellert could just say _will you be my boyfriend_ in plain English and he’d be thrilled; no need to make it so flowery. “You know, you don’t have to keep wooing me, I’m already in your bed,” he teases.

Gellert chuckles and steals another kiss. “I will take your impertinence as a yes.”

“Yes,” Percy confirms, and then melts when Gellert cradles him like he’s something small and breakable and kisses him like he’s anything but.

~

Credence has never been on a plane, or on a boat. He’s certainly never been on an eleven-deck passenger ship with a pool and movie theater, and he _absolutely positively never in his life_ has been on a private island.

But hey. First time for everything, right? He grits his teeth as he wades out into the lagoon, flippers in hand. Newt’s hand is gentle in the crook of his arm, leading him over to the horseshoe-shaped ramp where the—gulp!— _stingrays_ will swim up for their food.

He’s never seen or touched a stingray before and as the bucket of food is passed around—shrimp and little seaweed-jello sticks—he thinks a little hysterically that he hopes they don’t eat him instead. “Remember,” Newt tells him soothingly, “just draw your hand back slowly as they pass. They won’t hurt you.”

“Have you done this before?” Credence asks anxiously.

“Oh, of course. I’ve been swimming with wild stingrays, too,” Newt says casually, “ones who didn’t have trimmed stingers. These little guys are harmless.”

The first stingray comes up to the ramp and swims up looking for food, and Credence makes to put his hand down but can’t quite bring himself to do it. Newt, however, plunges into the water and chuckles in delight when the stingray sucks the food from his hand. “Atta girl,” he praises her, gently stroking the edge of her wing. “Aren’t you a pretty one?”

She _is_ pretty, and Credence has to admit that the way the sun glints off her silver skin is one of the most mesmerizing sights he’s ever seen…but he’s also well aware that this is technically a _wild animal,_ one that could hurt him or—this, he has to admit, may be a bigger worry—one he might hurt himself if he’s not careful enough.

It takes a few rounds before Credence can bring himself to hold out the food for the stingrays, but when he does, he can’t help but squeal in delight as the mouth softly vacuums the food from his fingers as the ray swoops by. The next time, he finds the courage to touch one and it’s every bit as smooth and slick as it looks, like liquid pewter under his fingertips. “Oh,” he breathes. “They’re… _soft.”_

Newt just about glows as Credence gets progressively more bold, until he’s feeding each passing ray with one hand and petting them with the other. “Good job,” Newt enthuses as the last ray comes up for food. “Ready to swim with them now? Oh, now—don’t look like that,” he chides as Credence visibly blanches. “This lot have dulled stingers, remember? They won’t hurt you.”

The setup is this: the ship they’re taking from Miami to Barcelona has a private nature reserve in the caribbean, and as this is the “fun vacation part of the trip,” as Newt puts it, this voyage from America to Europe, he booked them a special session of swimming, feeding, and petting stingrays in the island’s lagoon. All proceeds from these sessions, as Newt enthusiastically informed Credence this morning, go to environmental rehabilitation programs around the world.

There’s just one problem: Credence barely knows how to swim, and he is terrified of fish. And sharks. And dolphins. When he was twenty-one his friends took him to SeaWorld Ohio for his birthday and he screamed in terror at the sight of Shamu, and perhaps was the only one over the age of four to do so.

But now Newt gently guides him into the shallower part of the lagoon, where the water just comes up to his chest, and coaxes him to sit down cross legged, bowing his head so he can see under the surface. “Just get used to them. Remember to breathe,” he instructs, tapping Credence’s snorkel mouthpiece. “Now, don’t jerk away. Just watch.”

They sit there for a moment until one of the stingrays, a tiny little guy about the size of a serving plate, settles down by Credence’s knee. Credence starts a little, but Newt grips him firmly by the shoulders and holds him in place. Credence tenses as the stingray drifts into his lap. Carefully he reaches down and strokes the slick, shining back, watching in awe as the ray drifts just above his knee, as if expecting to be touched, and then lazily moseys away.

Only then does Credence yank his head up and pull the mouthpiece out so he can say, “Did you _see_ that?”

Newt laughs and squeezes his shoulders. “I did! See, what’d I tell you…they’re basically sea puppies, aren’t they? C’mon, let’s go swimming. Put your flippers on and follow me…oh, you’re going to love this…”

And, to his amazement, Credence _does._ Floating lazily through the lagoon, safe in the knowledge that Newt is never far away and won’t let him get hurt, watching the stingrays swim underneath him, with the warm rays of the sun on his back…it’s incredible. Magical, even. Because it’s new and exciting and something he never, _ever_ thought he could do, but he’s _doing it_ and it’s _okay_ and he just thinks, _I wonder what else I could do?_

And the best part is that now he knows he’ll have the chance to find out.

~

It takes Percy a little time to get used to the feeling of being in love.

He’s not at all accustomed to the sensation of letting himself belong to someone else, of actually texting someone when he gets home for the night to let them know he’s safe, of knowing that if some random person hits on him he can tell them _no thank you, I have a boyfriend._ He’s definitely not used to coming home to the sight of red roses propped against his door, or getting sweet texts at random intervals during the day. And he absolutely, _positively_ is not used to being swept off at the end of the workday, still in his suit with his hair neatly tied back, only to be slowly and deftly undone at the hands of his very skilled lover.

He’s had sex before. Plenty of it, too; in high school before he figured out he preferred men to women he slept with anyone who would have him. He let himself be used by any lover who looked at him right in college, and he’s had his share of one-night stands as an adult. But as he got older he began to crave real intimacy and since that craving took hold, all he’s found here and there is a disappointing one-night stand (hello, Credence Barebone) that left him yearning for more.

But this…this is different.

He feels…light. Happy. He revels in the anticipation of seeing Gellert and the joy of actually getting to be with the man, whether he pops in at work (which he has done a few times; he somehow learned that Percy loves the turkey avocado wraps from the burger joint a few stores down from Kay and brings them to him when he thinks Percy might not have had time to eat lunch) or plans an extravagant date for them at some fabulous downtown restaurant or theatre.

(They go to see a revival of _Cats_ and it’s the most trippy thing Percival has ever seen. It’s strange. But the music feels intimate and something inside him unlocks and that night when they make love it’s passionate to the point of being nearly feral, and Percy loves how beautifully _wrecked_ he feels afterwards. He walks funny the next day at work, and thanks every god in existence that Queenie and Tina are too classy to tease him about it.)

There are doubts, of course, because Percy is still Percy and no matter how perfect Gellert seems there’s always going to be _something._ He doesn’t like that Gellert always insists on covering the bill. _I’m not THAT broke,_ he wants to snap sometimes, when even a quick trip to Dairy Queen before an afternoon shift is taken out of his hands. But it’s okay. He knows it’s just Gellert being Gellert. The man is kind but stern, and Percy thinks he may well have signed himself into a total power exchange without realizing it, because Gellert is sometimes (and there’s no way to say it but to say it) _unbearably fucking bossy._ But again, it’s okay. Percy likes a man who knows what he wants.

Sometimes Credence, the shy boy from the laundry room, will creep into his mind at inappropriate moments. Gellert will be eating him out, slow and sloppy and absolutely filthy, and Percy will muffle his sob of pleasure in the pillowcase as he comes…and as he lies there and bathes in the afterglow something in his mind will turn upside-down and he’ll swear the hand stroking his back feels smaller, younger, less certain. And then he’ll slowly come out of it as Gellert turns him over and strokes the sweaty hair from his eyes and he’ll remember where he is and who he’s with and he’ll feel horribly, _horribly_ guilty.

They never fight, but sometimes Gellert will give him a look of disdain if he orders a local beer from a restaurant instead of a glass of wine with dinner, or roll his eyes if he sees Percy look up Wolverine football stats on his phone, and Percy feels frustrated. _Sorry we can’t all be as completely refined as you,_ he’ll think uncharitably, and then feel horribly guilty, again, when Gellert pulls out some present or other for him. Gellert is so _nice,_ even when he’s unhappy, and Percy feels mean for ever thinking anything negative of him.

He sometimes feels tired, so tired, and he thought being with Gellert, having someone to touch and love and be with in those vulnerable moments, would fix that. But there are still days when all the coffee in the world can’t make him feel less bone-tired, when he sees a text from Gellert and thinks _fuck, do I have to deal with this right now?_ and then he hates himself and wants to cry, but he never does.

Is he happy? Sure, happy enough. Is he in love? He thinks he could be, if he isn’t right now. Gellert is very good to him, and he thinks he could get used to it, if he could only stop feeling so guilty about it all being so one-sided. Because this is what he wanted, right? He wanted to be wooed, swept off his feet, made to feel loved and special. And he does! Gellert is such a gentleman, the kind of tender lover that one can often only dream of finding. And yet…

On bad days Percy tells himself, _you wanted someone to care for you and now you have it, so stop looking for flaws that aren’t there. You can be happy now._ But if that’s true, he wonders, why is Credence Barebone’s sweet face the last thing he sees before he falls asleep some nights?

And more worryingly, why is it on those bad days when he wants to call off a date because he’s so tired and sad he doesn’t think he can make it out the door and Gellert patiently coaxes him to get dressed, he always thinks _Credence would understand?_

 _You knew him all of a week,_ he sometimes screams in his head. _He’s gone! He’s in Europe and you’re in love. Stop making yourself sick over it. You’ve got someone and he’s got someone and you were awful to him and he was terrible in bed and it doesn’t matter._

It doesn’t matter, he knows it doesn’t. And yet, when Gellert comes to his door with yet another gift, a silk shirt that feels absolutely, deliciously sinful against his bare skin (even more so when Gellert touches him through it, and those strong hands splay out across his back to pull him in for a mind-erasing kiss), Percy feels almost bereft even as he melts into Gellert’s arms. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to have _more_ than this, he knows on the surface he is happy and he should be, but something in his heart won’t quite let him go.

He feels good most of the time but in the moments he doesn’t it hits him hard, and he doesn’t know what to say or how to feel about that, so he says nothing, not even to Tina or his therapist, and hopes that if he just keeps going he can relax enough, trust enough, and everything will be all right.


End file.
